A Dance, Your Worship
by BatmansBabe
Summary: Luke began to notice that, more often than not, when he went to check up on Han, Leia was already there. She ate Han’s smuggled food rather than the rations while admonishing him for not sharing it with the rest of the base


AN: Am somewhat miffed with lack of inspirational Sparrabeth plot bunnies – but have found v. v. inspirational new fandom (or rather, old fandom, but newly inspirational plot bunnies). Here I present the first of (hopefully many) Han/Leia bits. There are parts of this I really like, and parts of this I want to puke over, and I took a lot of creative license. Hope you like.

Disclaimer: Well. Am I in any way associated with anything remotely related to the Star Wars films, comics, video games, EU stories, etc. etc.? No. No I'm not. So we can logically assume, therefore, that I own nothing.

A Dance, Your Worship

Luke saw it. From day one, they'd bickered, fought, screamed, yelled, refused to talk to each other for weeks at a time. But behind barbed words were unspoken worry, a refusal to give an outright compliment, strong attraction, and even, sometimes, a touch of camaraderie. They'd always seemed to _know_ each other, better than most, always knew which buttons to push, and which words to soothe brutal cuts, which to comfort the other. They were both as tactful and tactless as Luke had ever known anyone to be.

When they'd all first met, Luke had thrown off Han's curiosity toward the beautiful princess as jest – and for a while, he'd been right to do so. But after a while, he'd been forced to look at things again. Han didn't seen in any hurry to leave quickly. In fact, he spent twice the time flirting with, goading, teasing, and earnestly talking to Leia than he did planning his departure.

The first, striking clue had been six months after the Death Star had been destroyed, when they'd been forced to evacuate and Han had absolutely _insisted_ he be the one to shuttle Leia (and, Luke begrudgingly admitted, himself), his excuse mostly a lot of muttering about not trusting anyone else not to get killed. As usual, something on the _Falcon_ was broken, and they'd spent two weeks more than would have been necessary floating through space. Han had, naturally, picked a fight which lasted 8 days – 8 days of a sullen Han and no visible signs of Leia's existence beyond the disappearance of the food Han set in front of her door – until Han (quite uncharacteristically) apologized for whatever it was he had said, and they'd spent the next two and a half weeks being nauseatingly courteous. And more than a little too friendly for Luke's tastes.

Of course, quid pro quo, Han had threatened to leave (again) once they had landed, and Leia and Han went back to… Leia and Han.

It hadn't lasted nearly as long as Luke had hoped it might. He began to notice that Han wasn't the only one making eyes when sure no one was looking. They ate their meals together, attended meetings together, and their explosive fights were felt by everyone on the base. And _everyone _knew the moment they'd made up, because there was almost a physical sense of relief that cam with it.

Luke began to notice that, more often than not, when he went to check up on Han, Leia was already there. She ate Han's smuggled food rather than the rations (while admonishing him for not sharing it with the rest of the base), worked on the _Falcon_ (while insulting anything she could about the ship, including it's pilot), played Sabaac with him when Reikkan managed to get her to leave (while criticizing the game, Han's scoundrel-y ways, and Han in general), and when she was upset, Han was usually the one to find her, and Luke was left to stumble upon them (while she refused to cry, but let her shoulders sag, let Han grasp her forearm or hold her in a one armed hug in a way that made Luke uncomfortably certain that, despite all his threats, Han was _not_ going anywhere).

Today was none of those things, though. Today marked the one year anniversary of the destruction of the Imperial base at Elrood, a striking blow to the Empire, and many impromptu celebrations had been established.

Food rations that had been saved for months had been broken out, smuggled drinks (even a few Luke recognized from Han's stores) had found their way onto any available surface, and there were even a few not-quite-horrible thrown together bands playing around the base.

The Rogue Squadron had set up their party in a rarely used wing of the bunker they were using as a base, and quite a few (Wedge among them, had pulled out instruments they hadn't played in years.

At some point, people had begun to dance.

Most were more…primitive dances – waving arms, jumping, gyrating – that Luke had seen before and had no interest in joining. Janson looked like the galaxies' biggest fool. Others were more conservative, doing something like a mournful slow dance. And the strange melee was completed by the wild, flamboyant dance that Han and Leia were doing.

Though he'd never seen it before, he imagined it was a dance probably performed in large ballrooms by rich, powerful, noble people, and never could he imagine it being done to _this_ kind of music. Not that Leia and Han took that into account. Somehow, with all the formality of it, they were keeping in step with the song, twirling, twisting, doing elaborate steps that made Luke wonder _where_, exactly, Han had learned such a thing. A large portion of the floor had been cleared for them, mostly, Luke imagined, for fear of being trampled by the duo, who spun, and whirled, and used as much room as they possibly could.

Luke continued to watch, slightly amazed as they not only continued to dance, but struck up conversation, pausing between twirls and starting right back up again once Leia had returned to stand before Han. They were all smiles, laughing, speaking as if they each anticipated what would be said next, playfully eyeing each other as the dance became more and more complicated. They seemed to be competing for the upper hand in both the conversation and they dance, and as the music came to a crescendo, it seemed Han had won. He spun her, pulled her to him, and dipped her low, his nose nearly touching hers as he said something which made her eyes gleam but caused her to look very affronted.

At seeing Han's self-satisfied smirk, Luke reached for the nearest cup and downed its contents, feeling the drink burn down his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Han throw an arm around Leia's shoulders and lead her toward a table laden with drinks.

The look on Han's face was nothing new. He'd been half in love with Leia for years. But the look Leia bore was new, and unmistakable. She'd be ready to fall if Han gave even the slightest hint of wanting to catch her.

Luke stared at the table he was sitting next to, trying his hardest to ignore the couple advancing towards him, trying not to notice how well matched they seemed, how the smile on Leia's face lit in her eyes, how Han only ever had that goofy smile around her. He'd let go of her shoulders, but as they walked they were close, shoulders brushing occasionally, and Luke could practically feel the tension, the heat emanating from them. They were like a bomb waiting to go off.

Both greeted him perfunctorily as they sat down, sipping drinks as they continued to talk about some outer rim planet Luke knew nothing about. It seemed Leia wanted to make contact with them, try to get supplies from them – and Han was trying to talk her out of it. "Listen, I've been there. I know those people, and they're not gonna want to give a penny or an ounce of bacta to something they think is a lost cause."

"A lost cause!?"

Han cut her off before she could start in on him and his lack of commitment to the Rebellion. "They're fine to stay out of the conflict. As long as they've got someone willing to buy their product, they don't give a damn if it goes to high-strung princess or a Sith lord. I'm just telling you the facts. They don't _care_ as long as they make money."

"Sounds like someone I know."

His eyes flashed a little dangerously, and Luke knew exactly why. Han hadn't been paid to fly for the Rebellion in over a year. Ever since that trip to Adari, when they'd thought they'd lost Leia…well. "Can we drop it?"

"Gladly."

Han turned his gaze to Luke. "You just gonna sit there like that all night?"

Luke shrugged. "That was some dance you were doing out there."

Leia snorted. "That wasn't a dance at all."

Han gave her an odd look. "It was too."

"It _wasn't_." Leia said, looking at Luke at she said it.

"I'll have you know that that, your worshipfulness, was a Corellian Waltz."

"And where did you learn a formal waltz, Han Solo?"

He grinned, setting down his drink, and leaned toward her. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. And I'm just about ready for another dance, Your Highnessness."

"You're going to have to find yourself a new partner if you don't stop calling me that."

Han continued to grin, one side of his smile up in that self-assured cockiness, the other side showing teeth to go along with the dopey grin. He stood, and gallantly reached for her hand. "A dance, Your Worship?"

She glared at him, and took another sip out of her cup. She gave his extended hand a withering stare.

He didn't retract it.

After a moments hesitation, in which the hand holding her cup hovered between her lips and the table, she set her drink down, and, on a deep sigh, reached forward to grasp his fingers in her own. He made an exaggerated, formal bow, and turned her, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow as he walked her towards the group of dancers. The others gave them a wide berth.

Luke watched Han extend his arm out, elbow bent regally, hand delicately holding Leia's. His other reached around her waist to her back, and pulled her closer, tucking her nearly flush against him, and he saw Leia color as he said something no doubt full of innuendo. He bent forward, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered something in her ear, and she let out a bark of laughter, smiling up at him.

Han took a step backward, initiating the dance, and after only a few steps Leia's eyes sparked. She knew the dance. It took him a few seconds, but he recognized it as well. It was a dance Leia had shown them months ago on an old holo, when she'd been homesick and in need of a little cheering up. It was a traditional Alderaan dance, the first dance at any ball, one, she'd said, that her father had led her in at every Alderaani ball held since she could remember.

Luke caught the look in her eyes, the way she tensed, and half expected her to run from the room. Han seemed to anticipate it as well, because he faltered, his smile disappearing to replace one of anxiety. But after a tense second or two, her shoulders relaxed, and she turned her misty gaze up to him, and smiled.

It was all Han needed to continue the dance. As Han and Leia swayed to some music that the others couldn't hear, Luke slowly slipped from the room, turning back at the door to see that Leia had tucked her head into the crook of Han's shoulder, and his eyes had closed, his chin pressed into her hair.

Luke sighed. He saw it. Their story wasn't over yet. It hadn't really yet begun. They'd fight, yell, scream, refuse to talk to each other for weeks at a time. They'd insult each other, comfort one another, throw heinous innuendo at each other. They'd push buttons, and they'd have tender moments, and at some point one of them would take the plunge, admit to something, stop fighting what was there.

And Force help the galaxy when those two starting fighting about things that were actually pertinent to their relationship.


End file.
